


I was born of it

by RobinLo



Series: We Were Destined for This [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Arthur has magic, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Prequel, semi-graphic description of injuries, serious angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLo/pseuds/RobinLo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up in Camelot when you have magic isn't easy, especially not if you are the crown prince. Prequel to I was born with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I was born of it

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to "I was born with it." It can be read first or as a stand-alone, but I would _highly_ recommend reading "I was born with it" first.  
>  Warning: non-graphic description of life threatening injury to a dog and semi-graphic description of life threatening injury to a human (both live).

Arthur’s first word was “Magic,” much to Uther’s delight. It was important to him that his son knew from the very start what evil lurked in the hearts of sorcerers, and so he had preached his policies to his newborn son even before the boy could crawl.

The lessons in the evil of magic were a constant in Arthur’s life, which was why he told no one when he, at the age of five, realised that normal people couldn’t make their scraped knees heal just by willing them to.

At age six he became a page, and quickly learned not to show any signs of pain at the cuts he got while learning to sharpen swords, and not to let anyone see until he had time to heal them.

The first time Arthur used his magic on another living being was when he was seven years old and his favourite dog had been gored in a boar hunt. While the rest of the hunting party pursued the boar Arthur stayed with the dog and made sure no one else could see him. He put his hands on the shivering animal, and with some concentration he found the spark within him that he always felt when he healed himself. He focused intently to transfer that to the dog that lay whining on the ground, and after a moment he could feel the animal’s breath starting to even out, and the wound was closing up. He made sure not to heal it all the way, leaving a scratch to account for all the blood, but with the now happy dog jumping around his legs and wagging its tail he felt that maybe this magic thing wasn’t so evil after all.

That feeling soon changed when Arthur turned eight and was taken to see his first execution. The sorcerer’s screams haunted him at night, and the flames of the pyre danced before his eyes every time he closed his eyes. With the voice of his father telling him that this was the punishment for sorcerers playing over and over in his mind, Arthur swore to himself that he would never use his powers on himself or others ever again, no matter how painful the wound. If that was what those who practiced magic deserved, then he couldn’t ever do it again. One day he would be king, and Camelot couldn’t have someone evil on the throne.

It was hard to resist using his magic sometimes. When Arthur was eleven his father introduced him to Morgana, a girl ten years of age who would live with them in the castle from then on as the king’s ward. Arthur was told that as the king’s son it was his duty to help protect Morgana, because his father had sworn to do so to her father. That was why it was harder than usual not to offer to heal her when he accidentally hurt her wrist when they were having a pretend sword fight with sticks one day. Fortunately she ran away crying before he could say anything, but he wanted nothing more than to stop her crying, especially since it was his fault she was in pain. He had failed in his duty to protect her from pain, and it was he who had hurt her. Maybe there was a seed of evil in him after all.

When his training as a squire started at age thirteen, Arthur wished every day that he could ease the pain in his limbs after combat training, but he would not commit treason just to be comfortable. He did not permit himself to dull the pain even that time when a slightly older squire - Leon - had accidentally nicked him in the leg with a sword, though the pain was worse than any he had ever experienced before. He grinned and bore it while Gaius tended to the wound, and almost convinced himself that it was worth it when his father clasped his shoulder and proudly pronounced it his first battle wound. It wasn’t enough to stop him from crying himself to sleep that night though, wondering if it would be easier to suffer through if he hadn’t known that he could make the pain disappear with a single thought.

***

It wasn’t until his eighteenth birthday that he used his magic again. He had been gifted a horse from a duke, and after the big feast - and after more wine than was perhaps sensible - he and Leon decided to ride out together to test his new steed. The moonlight led them out of the city, but as they entered the forest the trees blocked the light and left them galloping through near darkness. Had their judgment not been clouded by the wine they would have turned back by then, but as it were they carried on at a reckless speed.

Before long they reached a narrow but rapidly flowing river, but as the vegetation grew close to the riverside they were almost upon it before they spotted it. In their haste they had no time before it was too late to realise that they were headed not towards the narrow bridge, but towards the river itself. Leon, who was currently leading their race, did not manage to halt before both horse and rider plunged into the cold water. Arthur, who was close behind, was slow to react in his drunken state, but his horse stopped dead a few yards before the water, and when Arthur flew over its head he landed with a painful thud on dry land.

By some kind of miracle Arthur’s only injuries were minor scrapes, a sore shoulder, and a twisted wrist, and he soon regained his composure. When he got to his feet he realised that Leon and his ride was out of sight, and he wasted no time in stumbling along the shore. He soon saw Leon’s horse staggering ashore on the opposite side of the river, but he ignored it in favour of finding its rider. Some moments later he caught up with Leon, his body floating limply in the water. Arthur immediately threw himself into the river to retrieve his fellow knight, and soon, despite his aching wrist, he had dragged the man onto land.

Arthur was relieved to find that Leon was still breathing, but relief was instantly exchanged for panic when he spotted the heavily bleeding wound in Leon’s temple where he had hit a rock in the river. It didn’t take long for the prince to realise that his friend was losing too much blood far too quickly, and his attempts to stop the blood flow with his bunched up jacket were futile. He could hear Leon’s breaths become more uneven, and when his shaking fingers found the man’s pulse he found it irregular. He didn’t need to be sober to know that if he did nothing his friend would die in his arms.

He had seen men die before, even killed them himself in the numerous battles he had already been part of, but never quite like this. Never lying in his arms, fighting for breath. Never bleeding all over his lap because of a stupid drunken accident instead of a battlewound.

 

It only took a moment for Arthur to reach a conclusion. Either he broke the promise he had made to himself almost ten years ago and used magic to heal Leon, or he sat there and watched him die in his arms. In the end it wasn’t even a choice. He laid a bloody hand over Leon’s wound and closed his eyes. He had expected it to be hard to find the spark after such a long time, but it leaped at him immediately, as if happy to finally be of use. Focusing the energy with all his might he let it surge into Leon’s body, searching out every torn vein, knitting together broken bone, replacing lost blood.

It took longer than he would have liked, and exhausted him more than any battle ever could, but Leon’s breaths eventually became steadier and were soon back to normal. Though Arthur was more tired than he had been in his whole life, and still intoxicated to boot, he had the presence of mind not to heal Leon completely, but to leave a shallow wound to explain at least some of the blood that covered them both. He let the still unconscious Leon slide to the ground, putting his jacket beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, and rose on unsteady legs to walk back to the river.

Arthur managed to wash most of the blood out of his clothes before collapsing beside Leon, soaked and tired to the bone. Waterdrops from his hair mixed with tears on his face as he berated himself for suggesting they take a ride that late at night while so drunk. Not only had he almost killed them both, but then he had committed treason to save their skin. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he should have let Leon bleed out instead, if his father would have thought that was the right thing to do if it meant not using magic. The thing was, his father would have made that choice. His father wouldn’t have sacrificed all that he stood for to save the life of one man, his cause was too important to him. And Arthur didn’t blame him. His mother had been killed by magic, after all. Trusting magic to heal someone without risking consequences was foolish.

Knowing what his father would have done he wondered if he was weak for breaking his promise to himself and making the choice to heal Leon. However, he also realised that he could not have lived with himself had he not done it, so it was with mixed feelings he kept wake at Leon’s side, too weary to move them both.

It was then, while he waited to regain his strength or for someone to find them, that he decided that in the future he would permit himself to use his magic in situations where he knew he couldn’t live with the decision of not doing it. And, if his life or capability as a ruler depended on it and he was able to, he would heal himself, if only to ensure that Camelot would not be left without an heir to the throne. An empty throne would be worse for the kingdom than a throne filled by someone with magic, he told himself. He would not permit his powers to corrupt him as his father told him they did everyone else. He could not permit evil into his heart, or his people would be the ones to suffer for it.

***

The executions had slowed down considerably as he got older, but there were still a number of them every year. Sorcerers caught in the act, men and women who faced accusations the could not disprove, druids captured as they crossed the borders to Camelot. Arthur made a point to witness every execution he could. It served as a reminder to him of the risks of corruption, to keep an eye on himself so that he did not fall for the temptations of power, lest he found himself on a pyre or under the executioner’s axe.

It was sometimes hard to justify his new decision to allow himself to perform magic in emergencies, but Morgana’s vocal disagreement with Uther’s policies helped to cheer him up. Even if they got on each other’s nerves more often than not, she was still like a sister to him, and hearing someone so close to him talking about how maybe all sorcerers weren’t evil and didn’t deserve to be put to death made him feel slightly better about himself.

He started practicing doing other things with his magic than heal when he realised that some life threatening situations may depend on things like lighting fires with no flint at hand, but no matter how much he concentrated at igniting the kindling in his fireplace or levitating a pebble he couldn’t do it. Ironically, being a warrior, it seemed healing was his only gift. Perhaps it was for the best. This way he couldn't be tempted to use magic other than for healing, and surely there was no way he could turn evil from healing wounds, was there?

***

Arthur met Merlin the year he turned twenty one. If he wasn't intrigued by the boy from the moment he opened his mouth to defend a servant, then he certainly made an impression when he took a swing at the prince when he dared him to. When Arthur dodged the punch and twisted the boy's arm behind his back he felt his magic jump to attention, sending shivers down his spine at the same time as the warm sensation he associated with healing spread through his chest.

Of course he'd ignored the strange feeling and proceeded with having the young punk thrown in the dungeons to teach him a lesson, but the next time he saw the boy the feeling was there again. He'd insulted Merlin, attacked him with a flail, and finally stared at him and told him that there was something about him he couldn't quite put his finger on.

After the feast which had very nearly ended with his death, two things were clear to Arthur. One, his magic had a certain interest in the boy that had saved his life; and two, since his father had seen fit to appoint the cheeky bastard his new manservant they were apparently destined to get on each other's nerves for the foreseeable future.

***

Arthur wondered sometimes why he found himself putting such trust in someone so incredibly inept at everything, and so quickly. Perhaps it was his magic, his gut feeling, telling him that the boy was trustworthy, or maybe it was just a side effect of having one's life saved from a singing witch, but when Merlin came to him swearing that Sir Valiant used sorcery to cheat he believed him without a second thought.

Of course, nothing was ever simple with Merlin, and the road to exposing Valiant was bumpier and more humiliating than either of them would have liked. Arthur would have found himself both without a servant and dead or at least poisoned if the snakes on Valiant's shield hadn't come alive at the last second. He often wondered afterwards if it was his magic that had instinctively acted out, exposing the enchanted shield in an attempt to protect him. Perhaps healing was the only form he could control, and his magic would protect him of it's own accord if he needed it to.

There would certainly be plenty of other incidents to support that theory. Branches conveniently falling on top of bandits sneaking up on him, torches suddenly flaring up to distract or harm his enemies... It all added up. He couldn't help but feel a little annoyed that he couldn't control it better, but at least that would make it impossible to abuse it, he just hoped that he wouldn't accidentally give himself away because of it some day.

***

As much as he felt ashamed about his powers there were times when he wished that his magic were stronger. Not every injury was in his power to heal as he discovered when Merlin, the brave fool that he was, drank from the poisoned goblet meant for him. As Arthur rushed towards Gaius’ chambers, Merlin lying limp in his arms, he knew that if Merlin died in place of him he would never forgive himself, and so he risked discreetly using his magic while they walked. He had never before felt as helpless as when he realised his powers had no effect. Merlin would have to rely on Gaius’ skill to heal him. 

In the end he got his chance to make it up to Merlin and save him in return, and though his powers had not been enough to beat the magically enhanced poison it seemed to guide him on his journey in the form of a ethereal blue light.

The poison was not the only case where his powers proved worthless. Not long after that incident Morgana fell ill, suffering from what Gaius described as an inflammation of the brain. When Gaius at last pronounced her beyond his saving Arthur had convinced his father to send for a traveling physician who claimed to have a cure for all ills, then he had rushed to Morgana’s rooms and attempted to heal her himself. He was ready to do whatever it took to help her recover, but nothing seemed to work. Every time she seemed to get better she suddenly got worse again, and no matter how much energy he fed her he could not bring her back. He was forced to step back and wait for the physician to come and work his own magic.

Of course, as it turned out, the traveling physician was actually using magic, and with the help of Gaius he had been exposed and brought to justice. This posed the question if his magic was only able to cure sickness and injuries of natural origin, that it was completely useless against spells and magical poisons, or if he simply wasn’t strong enough to tackle magical affections yet.

***

It was easy to believe his father’s teachings of the evil of magic and its inevitable corruption when Arthur stood watching convicted sorcerers being led to the pyre or the chopping block. Some of them looked like empty shells of human beings, tired and wretched from their time in the dungeons, with no hope left in the world. It was easy to dehumanise that kind of person, to only see them as someone who had committed a crime, someone who was aware of their sin and had resigned themselves to their fate. Others had to be dragged to their deaths, fighting the guards and screaming profanities at anyone who would listen. They could curse the king and anyone who followed him and tell them that they would pay for their actions. It was easy to hate those, to see them as the kind of wicked conjurers Uther had preached to him about.

Watching the convicts approach the executioner was easy. The moments before their deaths were not. At burnings the moment would inevitably come when the flames started licking their legs and even the most stoic of them would scream in agony and beg for mercy, and at beheadings their expressions of rage or solemnity would be exchanged for teary eyes shut tight. In those moments it was impossible to see them as other than scared humans who just wished their life had taken a different path.

In his hearts of hearts Arthur had trouble believing his father’s teachings that all sorcerers were evil at heart, and after he met a young man called Lancelot he found he could no longer buy the idea. Sure, the man had lied to them, in his father’s eyes betrayed Camelot, but it was obvious that Lancelot had a better heart than most people Arthur had met.

It was when Arthur found out that Lancelot had lied about his heritage that his suspicions arose. The papers proving Lancelot’s noble ancestry had been forged with such precision and skill that Arthur, who had been tutored in penmanship for years as part of his princely education, could not help but consider the possibility that it was the work of magic. The man obviously did not possess any wealth big enough to pay for such fine work. And when the griffin attacked Camelot Arthur had told Lancelot himself that Gaius believed it to be a creature of magic, and that perhaps only magic could kill it, before aiding the man’s escape from the dungeons. If he was right, if Lancelot did indeed have magic, then perhaps he would take the hint and help them rid the land of the beast.

His suspicions were confirmed when Lancelot emerged victorious from the encounter with the flying beast, the creature lying dead and smoking on the ground, after Arthur and his men had been knocked unconscious. Lancelot had had no reason to help them. Camelot had done nothing than mistreat him, and yet he risked life and limb to protect its citizens. If that was not the mark of a true knight, then Arthur did not know what was. Lancelot may not have been of noble birth, but he was noble of heart, and to Arthur that proved beyond any doubt that not every sorcerer was evil.

His beliefs were further cemented when Lancelot insisted that he had to leave Camelot to seek redemption for his lies, despite Arthur’s attempts to sway his father into letting him stay in the city. The goodness that Arthur saw in Lancelot gave him hope for himself and others. If Lancelot was a sorcerer and the worst thing he used his magic for was to lie in order to be allowed to protect the kingdom, then how could it be a certainty that magic ruined every heart it touched? Perhaps it was possible to fight the corruption if one’s heart was stout and true.

That night, after Lancelot left, Arthur ventured down to the library, nodded to the lone guard outside, and entered. He soon found the hidden section he had stumbled upon when he had been playing around in there as a child, and it didn’t take long before he found a book less dusty than the others. It had obviously been read recently, and he was not surprised when he read its title, “Magic: Weapons And How To Enhance Them.”

Arthur thumbed through the book, and soon he found the spell Lancelot must have used to slay the griffin. Pulse rushing, he read the instructions and drew a dagger from his belt. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the spark of magic within him as he read from the page.

“ _Bregdan anweald gafeluec_.”

At once the dagger was enveloped with a dancing blue light, almost like flames, and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh as he watched it. It was the first time he had succeeded with any magic besides healing, and though he knew breaking the law wasn’t a cause for celebration he felt the tiniest bit of pride. If a creature such as the griffin were to attack again it would be a shame not being able to kill it, though he wished the method didn’t have to be so flashy, and so he memorised the spell. However, he did not dare to write it down or bring any of the forbidden books with him to his room to practice other spells for fear of being exposed should the books be found, but he’d be damned if he would let a magical creature terrorise his people again if there was a way to stop it.

***

Arthur’s conflicted faith in the king and his teachings was put to the test when Morgause summoned the spirit of Arthur’s mother, telling him the truth about his birth. It was a punch to the gut to learn of his father’s lies, but at the same time it was a relief beyond words to realise that the reason behind Uther’s hatred of magic was just him trying to put the blame on anything other than himself. It was almost frighteningly easy to raise his sword against his father, driven by his fury about the persecution of magic users, his kin.

Then Merlin had stormed into the room, claiming Morgause had put her own lies in the mouth of his mother’s apparition to turn him against his father. Accepting this as the truth, that Morgause was just another traitorous sorcerer, was the hardest thing Arthur had ever done. Believing this gave more credit to Uther’s creed that magic was evil, and after a brief respite from that self-loathing it was all the harder to get it thrown back in his face. After all, he had been prepared to murder his own father after hearing a lie he had not even bothered to question. Those were not the actions of someone noble of heart.

***

If he had thought that the effects of Morgause’s deceit had been hard to bear, then he was devastated when Morgana allied herself with the woman. Seeing his friend, and apparently half-sister, on the throne of Camelot being crowned by a sorcerer after the bloodbath their army had caused broke his heart.

Learning about her magic was another blow. She had been such a compassionate person, someone who always stood up for the less fortunate and spoke her mind no matter the consequences, and Arthur had taken great comfort hearing her talk about the unfairness of the laws against magic. But now there she was, using magic herself to kill his people and bring his father to his knees. It was just another sign of the corrupting power of magic. He had never felt more alone in his life than at that moment.

***

He wished he could stop his head from spinning as he staggered to the side to avoid the assassin’s sword. The next thing he knew he was sprawled on the floor, unable to summon enough strength or coordination to get back up, but as the knife-throwing murderous bastard of an entertainer swung his sword to finish Arthur off his blade was stopped by another.

Uther was standing, swaying but on his feet. It was he who had picked up Arthur’s sword and was defending his son, though still weak and disoriented after the burden Morgana’s betrayal had placed on his shoulders.

“It will take more than a coward like you to kill my son,” Uther said, and the assassin turned his focus to him instead.

Arthur fought to get up on his feet again, but he couldn’t shake his strange fatigue, and when the assassin pushed his father to the floor and turned back to him he had only managed to get up on all fours. Fortunately his father had regained his composure and was attacking again, buying Arthur time, but before he could be of any use Uther had disarmed the assailant and forced him to the floor. Uther raised his sword to finish the man off, and as he lowered it the man thrust a hand up as in self defense, but it was futile and he was dead within seconds.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, but then he saw his father stumble, and with renewed vigour he scrambled across the floor to catch him as he fell.

“Father?”

His heart missed a beat when he saw the blood on Uther’s stomach. The bastard across the room must have had a knife.

“No,” he breathed, then summoned his strength to call for the guards, but his voice came out weak and there was no response, so he said, “I’ll go get help,” and tried to rise again.

“Stay with me,” Uther interrupted him, and he stilled.

“I’m here father,” he acquiesced, but shouted again, “Guards! Someone! We need help!”

This time he knew he had been heard, and it was all he could do to keep still as Uther assured him that he would be a great king and that he had always loved him. The guards were on their way, and though his father drifted off into unconsciousness his wound was not bleeding that bad, so to risk using his magic now would be foolish. He would let Gaius treat Uther as best he could, and if that was not enough Arthur would have to use his magic, his father’s prejudices be damned. Uther had caused more suffering to people with magic than Arthur could justify, even if it was as evil as the king said, and the man would likely see him dead if he knew about his powers, but despite it all he was Arthur’s father, and Arthur could not stand by and watch his father die if he could help it.

Unfortunately Gaius could do nothing but keep Uther comfortable as he faded away. The wound had been worse than it looked on the outside, beyond the help of any mere physician. It left Arthur no choice but to resort to magic, but he had to be smart about it. If he healed his father now after Gaius had said that nothing could be done, then everyone would suspect magic. He was not sure that either the king or the kingdom could forgive him for his deceit, but he reasoned that it would be better received if he had another sorcerer help out rather than revealing his own magic, and thus his plan was formed.

It took more courage to approach Merlin with his plan than it took to head out in battle, but he needed him to find out if Gaius had any old contacts with magic strong enough to be up for the task. He had expected arguments from his servant, or perhaps a refusal to ask Gaius, but he was relieved and somewhat surprised when Merlin’s only reaction to his proposal was a moment of stunned contemplation and then a promise to ask Gaius right away.

Merlin had raised his voice in support of Uther’s beliefs many times, and Arthur had played along to prevent any suspicion, but the man had also helped the druid boy escape Camelot, and had been prepared to sacrifice himself in Gwen’s place when she was accused of sorcery with no evidence to the contrary. Arthur still couldn’t quite put his finger on the man, of his real beliefs. He just knew that he was loyal to a fault, and that his loyalty was placed with Arthur rather than Uther. He had never appreciated it more than when he watched Merlin hurry away to Gaius’ chambers.

Of course, when they reached the sorcerers hut Merlin immediately buggered off into the woods to hide with the excuse of ‘peeing.’ It was amazing how the man could be so courageous one moment (which Arthur of course would never admit to his face) and then so cowardly the next (something Arthur repeatedly told him).

The sorcerer himself, unfortunately, turned out to be the same old man who had once caused trouble in Camelot by planting magical poultices, and who had only just escaped the pyre after insulting both Arthur and his father. Someone more impossible to strike a deal with was hard to imagine, but to Arthur’s surprise the man accepted the offer after a heartfelt speech about how he only wished for his kind to be accepted rather than hunted. Of course Arthur could not reveal that he himself dreamed of similar things, but for the first time in his life he promised, not just to the sorcerer but also to himself, that when he was king people who practised magic would not have to live in fear of persecution.

It was as if though he was the one who had been stabbed in the gut when the sorcerer’s spell pushed Uther over the edge instead of bringing him back from the brink of death, and then something snapped inside of Arthur. He had been a fool to trust this old con, to think that any sorcerer trusted with the life of his father would do anything other than finish it. What made it even worse was that it was Arthur’s fault. He could just as easily have healed his father himself and made up a story about bringing in outside help, or simply faced the consequences, but instead he had chosen the gamble of trusting a known enemy. He had chosen his own comfort and safety above the life of a family member, and thus he could no longer argue that there was no trace of evil in his own heart. He might as well have killed his father himself.

Mad with grief and guilt he attacked the evildoer, but the old man felled him to the floor with a shove of magic and fled. Arthur didn’t wait a moment to get back on his feet in pursuit, alerting the guards, but it was soon clear that the old man was nowhere to be found.

Had it not been for the support of Merlin, Arthur would in all probability have broken down before even entering the throne room that night to say his last farewells to his father, but instead he was heartened by his servant’s gentle hand on his shoulder, and he took a deep breath and entered the silent room. With his father’s cold body before him on a raised dais it was comforting to know that on the other side of the door was a person who didn’t blame him for his mistakes while he blamed himself.

When he finally left the throne room the next morning he was met by Merlin sitting on the floor and looking as awful as Arthur felt, but at that moment he knew that somehow it would be alright in the end. There were people in his life who knew about most of his faults and mistakes, yet still deemed him worthy to follow and support. Merlin, Guinevere, Gaius… There might be evil inside of him, but he trusted the people closest to him to help him stay on the right path and rule justly.

***

Out of the blue Lancelot returned to Camelot and the realm of the living, and with him conflicts Arthur had wished never to experience again. This time he was more wary of the other man’s presence, for if he was to hold true to his own renewed conviction that no magic user could be purely good then Lancelot too must be considered potentially dangerous. After all, to come back from behind the veil of death itself must have taken some powerful magic.

The joy of his imminent marriage to Guinevere made it rather difficult to keep the pessimistic suspicion up, and the fact that Lancelot had never done anything Arthur did not respect didn’t make it any easier. But then he caught Guinevere and Lancelot sharing a passionate kiss in the dark corners of his council chambers, and all his pent-up doubts about Lancelot’s character, his guilt over his own magic, and every nervous fear about whether his relationship with Guinevere would work out came pouring back into his mind, and he lost himself in the despair, furiously charging at the man who was once one of his closest friends.

It pained him more than he could say to send Guinevere away and banish her from Camelot, but it would have pained him more to have to see her around the castle every day, knowing that he still loved her, but that she loved another. He knew he was being selfish in his judgement, that Guinevere would have a hard life beyond his borders, but this one time he indulged himself in the stain of darkness on his soul he now knew that Lancelot shared. However, when the former knight was found dead, slain by his own hand, Arthur could not in his heart of hearts deny that the man still had some honour left, and so he made sure that he was granted a proper burial. Despite all that had happened, it still hurt to lose him a second time.

***

Morgana’s next attack on Camelot left him on the run from his own kingdom, and at a new emotional low. Not only was it hard to be reminded of Morgana’s hate for him, but the discovery of his uncle’s betrayal hit him like a punch to the gut. Merlin had been right in his suspicion against Agravaine, and as usual Arthur hadn’t listened and instead trusted the man blindly because he was _family_. To think that Agravaine, who had lost a sister to magic when Arthur’s mother died, would choose to ally himself with a magic user hellbent on destroying the legacy Ygraine had left behind in Arthur.

Family had brought him nothing but heartache.

***

And then the fight was over, Morgana once again on the run, Agravaine most likely dead, and Guinevere hand in hand with Arthur in the Great Hall like he had dreamed of for so long. He looked out over the crowd as they cheered and shouted, “Long live the Queen!”, his eyes focusing on the group of his most trusted friends, all there, with the exception of Lancelot. Gaius, Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival… and Merlin.

Arthur looked them all in the eye and watched Gwen from the corner of his eye where she was beaming at the audience before allowing himself a smile. Perhaps you could choose your own family.


End file.
